


everyone i know (blood and stardust)

by staticbees



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Angst, F/F, i spent longer than i should have on this, koudelka/minkowski is mostly implied since yknow.. theyre married, other characters are mentioned but not actually in the fic, which is apparently all im capable of writing, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 21:30:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: sometimes, the nightmares followed you into the waking world. eiffel’s wide, terrified eyes, minkowski’s defiant shout, cut short by the bang of a gun, kepler’s taunting voice, your hands shaking slightly as you pressed your finger to the trigger, the way jacobi looked at you when he realized they were gone, that it was all your fault. and you let them, let the memories consume you, because they were gone (again), you were the only one left (again), you couldn’t save them (again).aka: the fic where everyone dies but lovelace





	everyone i know (blood and stardust)

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this fic for a while, and i figured i'd just post it. i'm kinda iffy about the beginning and the ending bits, so i might end up editing those, whoops.
> 
> also, the song in the title and at the beginning is everyone i know (will die) by erin lovett / four eyes

_ everyone i know is aching with the ghost of what they know is right. _

_ and everyone i know is aching in their bones with what they can't describe. _

_ oh, everyone i know will die. _

 

_ everyone i know feels so invincible. i feel it too, sometimes.  _

_ and everyone i know has some invisible and tragically short timeline. _

_ oh, everyone i know will die. _

 

after the bomb, after the mutiny, after you found out that you weren't really human, had never  _ been  _ human, that you’d been living a lie for almost a year, after the war was won but the means hadn’t justified the end, hadn’t justified the losses, hadn’t justified  _ losing them _ , you cut the urania away from the station. 

 

it damaged the hephaestus irreparably, systems faulty and glitching, but hera was gone ( _ just like rhea _ ), and it wasn’t like you needed life support anyway, wasn’t like you minded the lights flickering, the temperature dropping down until you were shivering, lips pale and smudged blue. you rigged the urania to fly again, set it on a flight path to earth. you’d done this before, after all, except this time the ship was actually made for flying, not just a tin can patched together with duct tape and trembling hands. you were captain isabel fucking lovelace ( _ or a semblance of her, a copy so good at faking you tricked yourself _ ), and you would survive. you had to, because they  _ hadn’t _ .

 

you watched the station fall into the star with burning eyes, until you couldn’t see it anymore, wolf 359 consuming what was left of your prison ( _ home, it used to be  _ home) with a fiery, blazing light, like the bright blue of minkowski’s eyes while you kissed her, her lips warm and soft and and pressed to yours, a slight buzz from the wine that you’d had one too many glasses of still running through your veins. 

 

as you stood there, watching the hephaestus burn up in the star like paper, you recoiled from the small part of you that was  _ happy _ , happy that the hephaestus was gone for good, that you’d never have to go back there again, never have to see the station washed in red, alarms blaring, because yet  _ another  _ thing broke, and they needed to fix it if they were  _ ever _ going to get off this goddamn station  _ again _ . because they  _ didn’t _ , did they? didn’t get off, didn’t make it back to earth, didn’t get to say goodbye. the letters to their families, tossed aside like they were nothing, just insignificant scraps of paper to be crumpled up and thrown away. 

 

isabel lovelace, the  _ real  _ isabel lovelace, had never made it out of orbit. you wonder what she felt in her last moments, hurtling towards the star, after cryo had failed. what she had woken up to. if she had woken up at all. did she know she was going to die in the time that it takes to blink? that she would be gone in a split second, as if she had never been there in the first place? 

 

there was a cryo chamber aboard the urania, and enough supplies for it to last the journey, but you needed to conserve power, be on the watch for other ships that might intercept you, so you decided to stay awake. a few months was a small price to pay for revenge, especially when you had nothing left to keep you going but the fury burning in your chest. 

 

it wasn’t like you could die, anyway, although god knows you’d tried, time and time again, because if they were gone, if _all_ of them were gone, even the one who’d shot you point blank in the head, there was nothing left for you there. nothing but blood and stardust and a vast, hollow emptiness that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room, even though you knew that was simply the life support failing, your lungs gasping desperately for air as you struggled to breathe, even though you didn’t need to, not really. 

 

functionally immortal. that was what they’d told you, after you woke up choking on air, gasping from a dream ( _ memory _ ) that had seemed all too real, cutter’s shark smile still burned into your brain, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the cold metal floor, the wound in your temple healed over like it had never existed, except for the fact that you still remembered the searing pain ripping through your skull, the way kepler’s eyes gleamed like the barrel of a gun, the fact that you knew what dying felt like, now. 

 

once you reached earth, you headed straight for goddard futuristics, straight for cutter. he never saw you coming, thought you had burned up in the star, just like the others. you lost your family once ( _except you didn’t, did you, you were just a shadow_ _who insisted on taking her name_ ) and then you lost them again ( _it was your fault, of course it was, it was always going to be, wasn’t it)_ , and now you had no one ( _not even a plan, not even a_ bomb _, not this time_ ), nothing to lose but your life ( _not that you could even lose_ that _, could you)_ , nothing to gain but revenge. you forced your way inside, took care of the guards, headed up to his office with burning eyes and clenched fists. 

 

the moment before you shot him, before the bullet entered his skull, you saw a brief flash of fear cross his face, gone in an instant, as if it had never been there ( _ just like the bullet hole in your head, the one that was supposed to kill you, the one that  _ did  _ kill you _ ) and you laughed bitterly, because you wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be doing this, if he hadn’t taken everything you cared about from you and left you with scraps. you narrowed your eyes, steadied your shaking hands ( _ you’re just like kepler, now, you realize that, don’t you _ ), and pulled the trigger. 

 

when it was over, all you felt was numb. 

 

maybe you thought that somehow, killing cutter would make the grief easier to deal with, that you'd gain some sense of closure, some shred of satisfaction, something to fill the ache in your chest that they had left. you'd lost them once, and you'd sworn you wouldn't lose them again ( _y̵o̶u p̴r̸o̷m̵i̴s̸e̸d y̵o̴u̶'̴d s̸a̵v̷e ̷h̵i̴m̵, yøu--_ ), and you _did_ , and shooting cutter had only made the nightmares worse.

 

the first time, you were to distracted to grieve, too busy repairing the ship ( _ uss unending nightmare, eiffel had called it _ ) and dealing with hibert ( _ selberg, volodin, doctor constant, the  _ liar) and making sure the bomb tied to your heartbeat didn't go off ( _ except it did, and you had to pay for that, didn’t you? because si-5 wouldn’t have even  _ come  _ to the station if it hadn’t been for  _ you). the second time, all you had was yourself and a ship and a smoking gun, blood running down the forehead of the man who’d hurt ( _ killed _ ) everyone you ever cared about, his eyes staring blankly forwards, slumped to his knees like a ragdoll. with the things you’d done, you didn’t even deserve her name.

 

despite cutter being dead, despite your best efforts, goddard futuristics still existed, and you knew they were tracking you, hunting you down. the same people who sent kepler and jacobi and maxwell up to the hephaestus, the same people who destroyed your life and the lives of your crew, trying to finish the job. you didn’t have anywhere to go, anyone to contact. being officially dead complicated things; you couldn’t get a job, couldn’t find a place to stay, couldn’t buy a car ( _ legally, at least _ ). if you found the families of your old crew, your new crew, gave them the letters, the wills, told them about their husbands and wives and children ( _ and fathers _ ), you’d still be putting them in danger. 

 

at first, you were going to let them catch you, lock you up, put you away for the rest of your life. it was simpler, easier, but there was a sharp, curt voice of reason in the back of your mind, reminding you that you weren’t  _ human  _ anymore, not really, and if they knew that, if they knew that you were an alien, if they knew that you were  _ ‘functionally immortal’,  _ which you were sure they did, since kepler would’ve had no reason to  _ not _ tell them, to  _ not  _ inform them of  _ everything  _ happening on the hephaestus, well then, there was no telling what they’d do to you, and it would certainly be worse than death. you chose to ignore that the voice sounded an awful lot like commander renee minkowski. 

 

there was nothing to do but run. it was a coward’s path, to flee from danger, and you were anything but a coward ( _ just keep telling yourself that and soon it’ll be true, soon you’ll be the kind of person you wish you were, the kind of person who could’ve saved them _ ), but you took it, because you had no other choice. run far, far away, until no one remembered your name, who you were, what you had done, what  _ they  _ had done, until it had all washed away, faded by time and change and things not written down in history books, and the only thing that was left was  _ you.  _

 

and so you ran. you stole a car and drove away and never looked back, an apathetic numbness overpowering any guilt you felt about the theft. you couldn’t get a legal job, but odd jobs would do. you’d stay in a hotel for the night, just long enough to rest, not long enough for them to figure out where you were, for them to track you. you stayed on the road, kept moving, because you knew if you stopped they’d catch up to you. you grew increasingly paranoid as you went, checking your room for bugs and hidden microphones, taking care to erase any information you’d have left behind, tensing up every time you thought someone might be following you. 

 

it was uncomfortable, being around other people after so long with only yourself for company. after more than seven years of silence, the noise was almost overwhelming. being on earth felt heavy, gravity pressing you to the ground. you were clumsy at first, stumbling steps and dropped plates, bursting apart into shards of razor sharp glass. you hated the way your feet felt glued to the floor like mag-boots, the way the air felt thick in your lungs, like drinking a milkshake through a straw. 

 

ever since you found out you weren’t human, you hadn’t needed food or sleep. at first, you hid it from the rest of the crew; you didn’t want them to feel more alienated from you than they already were, and you’d take any semblance of normal life you could get ( _despite the fact that your life would never be normal, had never been_ _normal_ ), and if that meant getting three hours of sleep and drinking seaweed-based coffee the next morning, well, that’d just have to do. after a while, though, you could see minkowski begin to grow worried, asking why you hadn’t eaten all day, why your coffee mug floated, cold and untouched, in the middle of your quarters. you didn’t lie to her; she seemed genuinely concerned, and you were sure si-5 already knew, anyway. you told her not to tell eiffel or hera; they were already on edge around you, and you didn’t want to make that worse. minkowski opened her mouth to ask you why you’d been pretending, why you’d lied, and shut it again, looking resigned. “fine,” she sighed, and left your quarters. you floated there for a bit, staring blankly at the wall with heavy eyes. it was remarkable how tired you could get, despite not needing to sleep. 

 

for weeks afterwards, when you slept ( _ if you slept _ ), it was like you went back in time, to before the mutiny. you knew you could end it all, that you could stop it before it began, but when your mouth opened to form the words, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything at all but stand there, paralyzed, watching them plan out their deaths. couldn’t tell them  _ i love you _ ,  _ i’m sorry _ , _ i miss you _ , couldn’t even say  _ goodbye _ . those were the nights you woke up with tears in your eyes, ringing ears and a pounding headache, like the dear listeners were trying to get your attention through  _ pain.  _ you usually couldn’t get back to sleep after those, so you got out of the car, sat on the roof, and stared out into the same deep, inky blackness dotted with pinprick stars that you’d seen every second for the last five years. 

 

sometimes, the nightmares followed you into the waking world, playing over memories again and again, layered on top of each other like radio signals, garbled and distorted. eiffel’s wide, terrified eyes, minkowski’s defiant shout, cut short by the _bang_ of a gun, kepler’s taunting voice, your hands shaking slightly as you pressed your finger to the trigger, the way jacobi looked at you when he realized they were gone, that it was all your fault. and you let them, let the guilt well up inside of you until it came spilling out like a broken dam, let the memories consume you, playing the same few moments over and over again, seeing everything you could’ve done differently, because they were gone ( _again_ ), you were the only one left ( _again_ ), you couldn’t save them ( _again_ ). 

 

you always knew you’d be alone once you reached earth. it was just a simple fact, one you’d accepted a long time ago. minkowski had a husband, after all, and you knew how much she loved him; there was no way in  _ hell _ she’d leave him for  _ you.  _ it had been just a fling, after all, a pieced together patchwork of kisses and the kind of desperate loneliness one only experiences when faced with the vast emptiness of space, 7.8 light years away from earth, knowing you might never make it back home. you loved her, and she loved you, but she had always loved him more. but this kind of alone, the painful, crushing kind, the kind where you knew you’d never get back to where you were before, never regain what you’d lost; you didn’t realize, back then, that that was the price you’d have to pay to get off of the uss hephaestus alive. 

 

almost everything reminded you of the hephaestus, now. in one town’s supermarket ( _ the name wasn’t important, they all blended together anyway _ ), you thought you heard hera’s voice, for a moment, over the pa. you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes widening, hands gripping the shopping cart with white-knuckled fingers, before you remembered, reality hitting you like a brick, leaving you sick to the stomach and short of breath. they were gone,  _ she  _ was gone, and you were back on earth ( _ not the hephaestus, not the shuttle, not the urania) _ gravity pulling you down like an anchor as you sunk paralyzed beneath the waves. another time, you had the radio turned on in the ( _ stolen _ ) car, flipping through dials to pass the time as you drove. a short burst of classical music broke through, static-filled and crackling, and you nearly crashed into the side of the road, regaining your composure just in time to swerve shakily back into the lane. it wasn’t aliens, of course, but you decided to stick to one radio station from now on. and of course, you could hear rhea in everything. 

 

sometimes you thought you could hear their voices, in the back of your head. eiffel and minkowski bickering about his duties as communications officer ( _ “this isn’t part of my job!” “yes it is, it’s right there in pyrce and carter, on page 236--” _ ), lambert snapping at you about protocol after you almost got yourself killed on a spacewalk ( _ “you need to check that your oxygen tank is full before you open the exterior airlock, you could’ve died!” _ ), hui rambling on to fourier about his predictions for the “weather” outside of the station ( _ “ _ - _ and then, the meteor shower will pass less than one hundred meters away from the ship, close enough to take photos of! not that i would. take photos, that is. because that would be extremely dangerous and reckless.” _ ). you knew they weren’t really there, but you couldn’t help but be grateful for the small amount of company they grant you, even if it was just a product of your guilt, loneliness, and deteriorating mind.

  
there was nothing left for you on earth, nowhere for you to go, and so you kept running, hoping that someday, you might find something ( _ someone _ ) else worth staying still for. earth wasn’t home, you could  _ never  _ go home ( _ because  _ they  _ were home, and they were  _ gone) but maybe, just maybe, it could be close enough. 


End file.
